


Standing 'Neath the Mistletoe

by captaincharming



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, atwwn series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:03:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian ruins David's romantic Christmas plans, the bastard</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing 'Neath the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas! this is cheesy and goofy, but what do you expect from a christmas fic? thanks for reading xx
> 
> (title taken from "merry christmas, baby", the etta james version. all of my fics but one are titled after an etta song, in tribute to the first song david heard killian sing in atwwn)

David feels as though he’s been standing at this counter for days. It shouldn't be this difficult. He shouldn't be wondering how much the world has changed outside the doors of this jeweler and whether or not they'll turn his ashes into just another diamond among many when he finally expires.

The decision of which ring is the perfect ring to get should be an easy one. Killian would obviously want the gaudiest ring available, something that you can’t help but notice, glinting on his finger whenever he waves his hands around in emphasis. Which is always.

But if this ring is something David has to look at for the rest of his life, he’ll be damned if he chooses one that makes him cringe every time he sees it. The dozens of bands in front him have begun to blur into one, until all he can see is a confusing mixture of gold and silver.

So he stands there. The woman behind the counter glances his way pityingly every so often, but she’s given up on asking if he’d like any help. He’s beyond help at this point.

David is entirely out of his element. He knows nothing about romance or proposals or diamond cut or band engraving. Does he even know Killian's ring size?

His hand twitches at the thought, clenching around something smooth and metallic in his pocket. Oh. Right. Killian's ring, stolen with a world-class combination of subterfuge and luck. David had gotten him to take it off last night, begging for a shoulder rub after a long day of cleaning cages at the shelter, before complaining about the clunky ring bruising him. Killian had removed it with surprising little grumbling, and David had pocketed it when Killian leaned in to kiss him after precious few minutes of actual massage.

David almost wishes he could just ask Killian to meet him, pick out his own damn ring and be done with the whole demoralizing process. But as soon as the notion enters his mind, David banishes it. He's only going to propose once, god-willing, and he wants it to be special.

It’s just...David never imagined things would get this far. Never thought he'd be at the point of planning an elaborate proposal for a guy he's crazy about. He’d resigned himself to perpetual bachelorhood before he was twenty-one. He was content with the thought of living out his days in solitude, with the possible exception of a mongrel or two from the shelter. If anyone had told him then that a few months shy of his thirtieth birthday, he’d be agonizing over which ring he wants to use to propose to his long-time boyfriend, he’d have laughed in their face.

Yet here he is, vacillating between a solid platinum band or one with a diamond crusted stripe throughout. He worries that while Killian would appreciate the flashiness of the diamonds, he might resent the implication that his ring had to follow the heterosexual standard of diamond engagement rings. Or maybe he'd want gold, though perhaps that's far too dated a concept, the whole band of gold thing. They may have been dating for two years, but David is no nearer to understanding the way Killian's mind works than he was the day Killian threw on an apron and declared himself a barista god.

The corner of David's mouth turns up slightly at the memory. He forgets his mission here while his thoughts stray to Killian. They've just passed their second anniversary, and while David had entertained the thought of just asking Killian to go down to city hall with him, he reasoned that the occasion called for a little more fanfare. He's getting married for godsake.

Well, possibly getting married. Killian has to say yes first. And he may never agree to it if David presents him with a sub-par ring. So his entire future hinges on the decision here today.

David blows out a sudden breath, startling the jewelry store employee. He offers her a sheepish smile in apology, scrubbing a hand over his face when she turns back to her work. He's frustrated with himself. The plan for the proposal has been in the works for a few weeks now, calling on the deviously tricky mind of Ruby and the more romantically inclined wisdom of Mary-Margaret. They've decided that it's only fitting that David pop the question in the place where he and Killian first met. And, coincidentally, the girls are hosting a marvelous Christmas Eve bash right at the Hut.

So. It was all very tidy. David knows the where, when and why. It couldn't be more perfect if he tried. A Christmas engagement to the greatest gift he's ever received. David snorts at himself. Bloody sap, as Killian would say.

Now the only thing that's left is to work out the how. David had never envisioned a scenario in which he would be considering marriage, so obviously he'd also never thought of how he'd go about actually asking. Something tells him it involves a little more than dropping to one knee. That 'something' being his two pains in the ass, coffee peddling friends.

He had been thrown completely for a loop when, in the midst of scheming over the location of David's proposal, Ruby had wondered how he planned to ask Killian to marry him.

"What do you mean?" he'd asked, eyebrows drawn into a sudden frown. "What way is there other than saying 'hey I really dig you, wanna get hitched?" He'd been half-joking, but the identical looks of horror on the girls' faces had quickly assured him that you don't joke about something as sacred as a marriage proposal.

"You're not serious," Ruby had dead-panned, at the same time Mary-Margaret had whispered "Oh David please say you're teasing."

"Well I mean," David hedged, uneasy with both of their pointed stares on him. "Obviously I'm not going to ask him to get hitched. I'll use like, flowery language." He frowned, reconsidering. Killian would never let him live that down. "Well maybe not flowery. He'd say yes just so he could ridicule me about it for the rest of our lives. But I'll just wing it."

Ruby and Mary-Margaret shared a wide-eyed expression. It was one with which David was very familiar; their 'David is an even bigger idiot than we originally thought' look. When it went on for longer than usual, David huffed indignantly.

"What is that look for, then?"

Mary-Margaret began to answer in her typical dulcet tones, but her reply was drowned out by Ruby's obnoxiously loud laugh.

"You're completely hopeless, David. Have you even gotten him a ring yet?" Ruby's laughter ceased abruptly at the stricken look on David's face. She leaned over to smack his arm, none too gently. "David oh my god!"

David backed out of her reach as she went to hit him again, rubbing his arm defensively. Ruby's fingers were always adorned in fifty different rings, and David felt the sting of at least three. Now there were going to be marks.

"I didn't know he needed a ring! He's not a girl!" David matched Ruby's glare as Mary-Margaret tittered disapprovingly. It distracted David from his ire, not used to anything short of sunshine spilling from her lips.

"Ruby! That wasn't nice. And David," she continued, turning her doe eyes on him, "engagement rings aren't exclusive to women.  They're an outward, symbolic declaration of your love and commitment. Killian deserves one."

That brought David pause. He was suddenly very fond of the idea of Killian always wearing something that signified his commitment to David.

It's just...Killian is attractive as all get-out. David isn't oblivious to the looks cast his way when they're out. Killian notices, of course he does, and takes great pleasure in the awe he inspires. He insists that it's directed at both of them, and especially David's "hot ass", but David knows the attention is heavily Killian-centric.

It's become increasingly one-sided since Killian's band had gotten their break, earlier in the year. They released a single that had become a staple overnight in top forty radio. The song was one Killian alleges to have written about David, but David never owns up to that claim. He's not a fangirl.

Except he is. he kind of really is. David feels like he might explode with pride every time he hears his boy on the radio, voice as beautiful and captivating as the first time David heard him. when he swears he fell in love with Killian, though he tells him it wasn't until the first time they had sex. At which point Killian cuffs him over the head.

David doesn't realize he's grinning to himself like an idiot, lost in thought, until the woman behind the counter touches his sleeve of his jacket lightly. Then he nearly jumps out of his skin. He drinks way too much coffee.

"Oh I'm so sorry! I just thought I'd make sure there isn't any way I can help." The employee, whose name tag reads Belle, smiles at him apologetically. "I must say, it's sweet to see how conflicted you are. And the look on your face certainly betrays your fondness for this special person."

Fondness. David almost laughs at the inadequacy of the word. What he feels for Killian is far and beyond fond. It borders on obsession, but he supposes he shouldn't destroy this sweet girl's romanticized impression of him.

He just smiles instead, meeting her eyes over the counter. He reaches to take her proffered hand, introducing himself politely.

"You know, maybe I could use some help. I'm completely lost, to be honest." He gestures down to the myriad of rings between them. "None of these really seem to fit the guy I'm uh, here for."

Belle nods immediately, a sympathetic look on her face. "Did you have a specific style in mind? A certain gem or material?"

David is shaking his head before she's even finished the question. "No, not at all. I mean, I think I don't like gold. Or he wouldn't like gold? But that's about it."

Belle smiles at him encouragingly in response to David's sheepish expression. "Well that's all right. It just means we'll have to work a little harder, right? Perhaps start by telling me a bit about him?"

David is charmed by her honeyed accent, launching into a description of his vexatious boyfriend.

"He's obnoxious." David smiles wryly when Belle laughs, incredulous.

"Well that's certainly not what I expected to hear."

David taps the counter with his knuckles, shaking his head contritely before continuing his explanation. "It's the only word that fits, I think. He's just...obnoxiously everything. Attractive, for sure. Smart. Like, smart-smart, but also witty. And sarcastic." David pauses, knowing he sounds ridiculously smitten, before deciding he doesn't care. Why else would he be shopping for engagement rings? And if the look on Belle's face is anything to go by, she obviously doesn't mind.

"He's a musician, so he's obnoxiously artistic. Loud. Always has to be the center of attention. But he's quite sensitive as well. He pretends to be all aloof and cool, but he's a huge pushover. He has the most expressive features too, like I can usually tell what he’s thinking just by the way he moves his eyebrows. I’ve never met someone I clicked with immediately, til Killian. He’s a giant pain, but he gets me, you know? And this probably isn't what you meant by describe him," David fumbles, ears turning red at his babbling. "You wanted to know like, his style?"

"Oh no, that's perfect!" Belle rushes to assure him, laying a hand on his arm. "It’s so sweet! And the ring should encompass his personality! Based on what you've told me, I think I have some you'll love."

She turns away, reaching for something out of sight beneath the counter opposite them. She comes back to stand before David, a tray of rings in her hand. David bends closer, intrigued.

The rings are black, a start contrast to the bright gold and platinum of the others on display. Some of them are solid, while others have streaks of silver or diamonds in them. David reaches out to touch one in particular. Belle is explaining that the bands are made of onyx, but David doesn't really hear her as he plucks [one](http://i.imgur.com/y6SO8cw.jpg) from its casing. The deep color is complimented by a single row of sparkling white diamonds, framed by two rows of solid black diamonds.

David holds it to the light, speechless for a moment. It's perfect. Unique, but not in a pretentious way. The gems are stunning, the white diamonds offset perfectly midst the ebony ones. The jewels are small, but there are so many of them that it doesn't matter. The ring sparkles brilliantly, while David stupidly thinks 'shine bright like a diamond', before remembering that diamonds don't actually shine.

He notes absently that Belle has stopped speaking, glancing up to find her smiling back at him, a knowing look on her face.

"This is it," he says breathlessly. Belle laughs again, clapping her hands delightedly.

"Wonderful! It really is such a gorgeous ring. Your fiancé is going to be so pleased." She holds out her hand. “Let’s get this sized, shall we?”

David reluctantly hands her the ring, reaching for Killian's in his pocket. He hands it over so Belle can note the size.

"Well he hasn't said yes yet. Unless this ring comes with no-rejection guarantee." He grins at Belle, ignoring Killian's voice in his head, groaning about his dad jokes.

She smiles back, turning Killian’s ring over to check the number engraved on the band before looking back to the diamond one in surprise.

"Well, if you're a believer in fate, you might take this as a sign of his imminent acquiesce." She holds the engagement ring out to David, who accepts it with a curious look. "It's his size."

"Seriously?" David turns the ring over between his fingers as Belle nods, smile threatening to take over her whole face.

"Yep!" She nods emphatically while David laughs.

David should have let her help sooner. This was almost too easy. He looks back down at the ring, overcome with the urge to slip it on Killian's slender finger. And never let him take it off. He smiles at Belle tremulously, hoping she misses the shaking of his hands.

"I guess the only thing left to do is wish me luck, then!"

In his excitement, David turns away from the counter with every intention of rushing to the Hut. He has to show someone the ring before he bursts, even if it's not Killian. His headlong flight is halted abruptly when Belle clears her throat.

"As much as I like you, David, I can't actually just give you that ring." There's a smile on her voice, so David isn't completely mortified, but his face still feels hot as he returns to the counter.

"Pre-wedding jitters?" he offers by way of an excuse, grinning when Belle doubles over laughing.

She's still laughing as she accepts the credit card David passes her. "Hear, hear!"

 

Killian had to give it to himself; he was a ruddy genius.

He stood in the middle of the living room, hands in his hips, surveying his handiwork. He had scattered numerous boughs of mistletoe about the apartment, hanging conspicuously above every place Killian could think of that David may come to rest.

There was one directly above the counter beside the coffee pot, where David perched every morning, his bare legs stretching to the floor as he drank his first cup of the day. A larger bundle hung over David's spot on their lumpy couch, low enough that Killian knew David's head would brush it every time he stood. Smaller clumps adorned David's less frequented spots (above the table by the door, where David sometimes paused when coming home to empty his pockets of scrap paper, dog treats, and other detritus he'd accumulated; in front of the TV, where David would crouch, cursing under his breath, as he tried to connect the game console so they could watch Netflix on lazy weekends.) And obviously, there was a whole damn mistletoe bush suspended merrily above their king bed.

David had been uncharacteristically sullen the past few days, ever since Killian had revealed he would, most unfortunately, not be able to attend the much touted Christmas bash at the Hut. The way David had looked at him when he’d made that announcement was like Killian had kicked his puppy. They’d had a fight about it, tell the truth, and they didn’t seriously fight very often. While they certainly got into spats on a daily basis, they never went entire days without speaking to each other after a tiff.

Killian understood David was disappointed, but what was he to do? When your fledgling rock band gets invited to play Rockefeller Center for their Christmas Eve special, you don’t say no. David was being ridiculously stubborn about the whole thing, refusing even to consider coming with Killian.

“I made a commitment to something, Killian,” he’d sneered coldly, the tone surprising Killian. “And I don’t take that lightly.”

“You RSVP’d to a podunk soiree at the local chophouse. It’s hardly a binding contract, love.” Killian should have realized his sarcasm would not be appreciated in this moment, but he’d never been very good at keeping himself in check.

David puffed up like indignant kitten, color rising in his cheeks. Killian absently noted how adorable he was, before bracing for the oncoming tirade. David pointed at him furiously then dropped his hand back to his side, fist clenching tightly.

“You know what, Killian? Do whatever you want. Fuck off with your friends to a different city the day before Christmas. Hell, might as well stay long enough to see the ball drop on New Year’s, right? I don’t fucking care.”

He’d stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door in response when Killian called “Oh I couldn’t do that, darling! Who’d I kiss at midnight then?”

That was two days ago. And they hadn’t spoken since.

Killian knew that he should have been a bit more sensitive in his handling of the situation, and he had every intention of apologizing when David got home that night. But he hadn’t been given the chance. David had stayed out until long after Killian had finally given up on waiting and went to sleep. He was gone again before Killian had even thought about rising the next morning. Or maybe he’d never come home at all.

Killian dismisses that thought with a shake of his head. David always comes home, even if he spends every moment they’re in the apartment together avoiding Killian like the plague. Which he still was. Killian knows he needs to set things right, otherwise he’ll be preoccupied in New York, and fuck up Jolly Roger’s first performance on live television. And subsequently ruin their career, ostracizing his mates and probably losing his boyfriend in the process. No one wants to date a washed up pop star.

Killian had wracked his brain for a way to cheer David up, and knew nothing brightened him  more than a ridiculously cheesy romantic gesture. Hence the mistletoe adorning every room. And if it served the dual purpose of allowing Killian a convenient excuse to kiss David quiet whenever the subject of Christmas was inevitably broached well, that was just a happy coincidence.

Killian glances at the clock above the stove for the fifth time in as many minutes, frowning to note that it is at least half an hour later than when David typically arrives home. If Killian has to trudge out into the blistering cold to retrieve his recalcitrant ass there will be-

The malicious thought is interrupted by the sound of David’s key in the lock, turning over fruitlessly when it finds the door to be open. Killian watches as he pushes his way inside, tentative like he’s trying to gauge whether or not Killian is home. When he catches sight of Killian standing in the middle of the room, David’s mouth turns up in the briefest of smiles, like it always does when they see each other. He quickly schools the expression into his more recent disappointed glower, but Killian smiles back sunnily regardless.

It falters slightly when David nods shortly in response, turning to toss his keys on the table, shrugging out of his jacket. Most stubborn man alive, swear to god. Killian’s eyes catch the mistletoe hanging tantalizingly over David’s head and his smile returns.

Stepping up behind him quickly, not giving him a chance to move, Killian wraps his arms around David’s waist. He hums when David stiffens, not letting up even when he tries to pry Killian’s arms off him.

“Killian I’m really not-“

“Now David, I’m disappointed in you. You certainly can’t expect me to ignore Frigga’s decree. You know how seriously I take my mythology.”

David’s sigh is heavily put-upon, like it always is when he thinks Killian is being particularly daft, but he stops trying to fight Killian off. “What are you talking about?”

Killian presses his nose into David’s neck, relishing his warmth after two nights alone in a cold bed. Killian needs David, okay? Would be desolate without him, can’t breathe properly unless he’s around him, wants to spend every moment for the rest of his life with him. Even when he’s pissy and petulant and driving Killian crazy with the huffy little sounds he keeps making. He runs a hand across David’s firm stomach, pulling him closer with a grip on his hipbone. Despite his continuous protestations, David is pliant beneath Killian’s hands. Killian closes his eyes in delight, knowing that David has missed this as much as he has. He cups David’s jaw with his free hand, tilting his head back to look at the plant above them.

David’s laugh is only slightly icy, so Killian counts it as a win. He spins them in place so David is facing out at the rest of the flat. There is mistletoe literally everywhere, and Killian can feel David’s surprise. He keeps his eyes closed, head still resting on David’s shoulder, smiling into his skin when David says “Oh for godsake,” and squeezes the arm Killian still has wrapped around him.

“So? Are you going to make me buck tradition, then?” Killian resists the urge to crow in triumph when David sighs again, turning within the confines of Killian’s arms to peck him lightly on the mouth.

“Satisfied?” David asks crossly, but Killian hears the humor beneath it. He grins into David’s pale blue eyes, thrilled to be close enough to number his eyelashes once more.

“Not even close.”

Whatever David means to say is lost in the press of Killian’s lips against his. The kiss is stilted at first, David not entirely relaxed in it, but Killian is patient. Kisses him chastely, until one of David’s hands comes to rest hesitantly on the back of his neck. Killian stretches up into the kiss then, fisting his hands in David’s shirt.

Killian couldn’t have asked for his plan to go any better than it had. He didn’t even need to show David the rest of the apartment, make him laugh at Killian’s shticky display. He was barely through the door and already back in Killian’s arms. Yes, he was a bloody genius.

As it always seems to go, everything comes apart at the first show of Killian’s arrogance. David breaks their embrace all at once, stepping back to watch Killian with hooded eyes.

Killian presses the back of his hand to his mouth, resisting the urge to haul David back against him. He knows it’s better if he lets David get out whatever’s troubling him, lest he choose an even less opportune moment to halt their coupling. He’s done it before, climbing out of bed in vexation from an earlier fight and leaving Killian to gape at him, naked and confused, while he paces the length of the bedroom and rants.

As it is, David seems less angry and more torn, gaze fixed on Killian’s mouth and fingers twitching at his sides. Killian raises his eyebrows and waits for an explanation, though he’s not sure one is forthcoming. David is wearing his sex-stupid face, and Killian doubts he even remembers what his original objection was. God, he’s stupid sometimes. Killian isn’t sure why he puts up with it.

Then David licks his lips, glance flicking down Killian’s body and back up to meet his eyes, the heat of it palpable even at a distance.

_Oh yeah. That’s why._

“Something on your mind, Dave?” Killian’s voice sounds gruff to his own ears, and there’s no doubt David notices. He opens his mouth to reply, having to clear his throat before he actually manages it.

“I’m still pissed at you.”

Killian laughs suddenly, not expecting such bluntness. The total lack of conviction in David’s voice makes it even more amusing.

“I know,” he says simply, stepping forward to take David’s hands. He tugs lightly and David melts into him easily enough, forehead resting against Killian’s gently. Killian glances up briefly before maneuvering them until they’re directly under the mistletoe again, prodding David when he’s slow on the uptake. David grunts irritably, but moves all the same.

Once they’re positioned correctly, Killian pulls David down to him again. He tastes like coffee and Mary Margaret’s cinnamon rolls. At least that explains his lateness in getting home. Killian doesn’t dwell on the fact that David always runs to a place where one of the employees is in love with him whenever he and Killian are in a fight. He’s not even sure David’s aware of it.

“I know you’re mad,” Killian says against David’s mouth, words bitten out between increasingly deep kisses. “I’m sorry I was an ass. But,” Killian pauses, trailing his mouth to David’s ear, knowing his weakness for having Killian speak directly into it. “I have to go, love.”

David doesn’t move away this time, but he stops any active participation in the embrace. Killian leans back to frown at him, and finds the expression mirrored on David’s face.

“You don’t _have_ to go, you’re choosing to go.”

Killian is the one to step away this time, annoyance with David trumping desire for him.

“And you’re choosing to be a child about this, David. You honestly would want me to pass this opportunity by? Knowing what it could mean for the band?”

David’s throat works guiltily. Killian knows he doesn’t play fair, knows that he’s playing on David’s fiercely proud notions for his band. But David’s known from the beginning of it all that Killian fights dirty.

When David speaks, his voice has gone soft, all vehemence erased from his words.

“Of course I wouldn’t. But it’s Christmas.”

The look David sends his way is so pleadingly pathetic that Killian nearly calls his agent on the spot, demanding that the event be canceled. Anything to rid David’s mouth of its discouraged pout.

Then Killian thinks of August’s uncharacteristic whoop of excitement when he’d learned of the gig, of Smee’s shit-eating grin, of Graham’s bone crushing hug. Killian is the band’s de facto leader; if he insisted they call it off, the lads would go along with it. But he can’t stand the thought of transferring David’s distress to his three best mates.

David is shaking his head before Killian can even begin to explain this to him. And Killian loves him. Because even when he wants to be selfish, he can’t do it at the cost of Killian’s happiness.

“It’s okay. I know you have to. And I’m a dick for making you feel bad about it.” David’s smile is sheepish as he pushes a nervous hand through his hair. “Forgive me?”

Killian knows he would forgive David anything, no matter the offense. Excusing a bit of prattish behavior is easily accomplished. Internally, of course. David will have to work a bit harder if he wants Killian to admit it.

“Absolutely not,” he chides playfully, waggling a finger at David. “You’ll have to make it up to me. Several times over.”

David’s smile is a sight for sore eyes, and Killian’s stomach tightens in anticipation. He couldn’t be more pleased at the resolution of their fight, and doesn’t intend to waste a minute between now and his departure in two days dwelling on it.

“How do you propose I go about that?” David is asking, advancing on Killian slowly. His eyes flit over bough above Killian’s head. “How much mistletoe have you got?”

Killian laughs as David swoops in on him, teeth sinking into his collarbone without preamble. “That is not a kiss, David!” he yelps, swatting David in the arm.

“I’m a little fuzzy on the rules. Not a mythology buff like you” David mumbles back, licking over the mark he undoubtedly left on Killian’s skin. Hopefully they have good makeup artists in NYC. Killian nearly laughs again at the thought of performing on national TV with a massive hickey. It would certainly perpetuate the bad boy image Killian has studiously cultivated his entire adult life.

“Don’t mar the merchandise, darling,” Killian drawls lazily, hands drifting over David’s back aimlessly. He wants to bite David back, but is content at the moment to let David do his thing. “Gotta be camera ready in forty-eight hours, after all.”

David lifts his head at that, and Killian nearly whines in disappointment. This has been an incredibly frustrating evening thus far. David is far too distractible. He drinks too much damn coffee. Fucking jittery, he is.

David glances down at the lovebite on Killian’s neck, seemingly torn between wanting to finish what he started and addressing whatever it is that’s bringing the pinched look to his face once more. He must settle on a compromise of some sort, reaching up to fondle the mark while speaking.

“I’m going to miss you so bad,” he says softly, eyes fixed firmly on Killian’s chest rather than meeting his gaze. “I had…plans for Christmas. For us. For Christmas Eve, I guess. But Christmas too. Just, you know, stuff.” He quiets abruptly, apparently out of words.

Killian often thinks that there must be something wrong with him, to be endeared as he is by David’s broken, fumbling speech patterns. But it gets him every time, makes him want to kiss every inch of his face. Or perhaps it’s just David’s face that makes him want to kiss every inch of it.

“You should come with me,” Killian replies, just as softly. “New York at Christmas? Think how sickeningly romantic it will be.” He grins at David, covering the hand on his neck with his own. “I’ll bring the mistletoe.”

David laughs, a small sound that always causes Killian to feel accomplished. All he needs in life is his music and the ability to make his David laugh.

David is watching him in a considering way, teeth worrying his lower lip. Killian reaches up to pull it from between his teeth, thumbing over the slick surface. Finally, David shakes his head, dislodging Killian’s fingers.

“I can’t. I’m needed at the shelter. And,” he says loudly, drowning Killian’s intended protest of “You work your ass off at that place, they can spare you for a day!”, “And I promised I’d be there for Ruby.”

“And Mary?” Killian asks peevishly, crossing his arms over his chest. David tugs them down again, lacing their fingers.

“And Mary,” he confirms, kissing Killian before he can comment. Killian is supposed to be doing the silencing here. Nothing is going to plan anymore. “I’ll make sure they have the show on at the party?” David offers belatedly.

“I should certainly hope so,” Killian sniffs before relaxing into David’s hold on him. “I’ll miss you too, Dave. But I’ll be home Christmas evening. And I’ll bring you the best gift.” He leers at David, who shakes his head disgustedly.

“Terrible. Completely awful.”

“But you love me.” It isn’t a question.

David sighs, put upon once more.

“Yeah. Lord knows why.”

Killian yanks him toward the bedroom suddenly, startling a laugh from him.

“Did I tell you there’s an entire mistletoe bush above our bed? I can’t imagine the sort of kissing that will satisfy its requirement.”

It’s David’s turn to leer, and Killian’s heart trips over itself on its journey to lodge behind his adam’s apple.

“We’ve got two days to find out.”

David stares up at the mistletoe above the bed pensively. The early morning light has it sparkling like a Christmas dream, adding a festive air to an otherwise typical beginning of the day. David takes a moment to wonder if mistletoe boughs are naturally reflective or if this one has been enhanced with some glittery material. Then he wonders why he cares.

Killian's unruly hair tickles his nose where he's tucked up against David, mouth pressed over his heart even in sleep. He mumbles something, and David struggles to decipher the words. Killian is a very active sleep talker, but David has never learned anything of substance. It mostly just startles him awake, Killian's rough voice loud in the quiet of their bedroom. David can't bring himself to find it annoying though, has difficulty finding a lot of typically obnoxious things about Killian annoying.  He chalks it up to one of their "disgusting couple things", as Ruby calls them.

Except this whole Christmas thing. David definitely finds it annoying. He pulls away from Killian subtly, transferring him to his own pillow, rather than resting on David’s chest. He’s not sure that pillow has ever been used, if he’s honest. Killian shifts restlessly for a moment before settling down with a snuffle. David covers his eyes with a hand, finding it easier to be irritated with Killian when he can’t see his sleep-sweet face.

He’d thought he was over his aggravation last night, when Killian had charmed him with the whole mistletoe bit, but David had awoken with the same unsettled pit in his stomach he’d been carrying around the past few days. He knows it’s irrational to be mad at Killian for leaving, when he has no way of knowing what David had planned for the holiday. And yet, here he is. Mad regardless.

David sighs, unsure how to proceed from here. He can’t fault his boyfriend for wanting to do the best thing for his band; hell, David practically lives and breathes for Killian’s musical aspirations. He wants nothing more than to see Jolly Roger prosper. But he’s not convinced the band’s success or failure is dependent upon this one performance. On Christmas Eve. On national television.

He rubs his eyes harshly, knowing how selfish he is. He can propose on another day. It’s not the end of the world.

Except it kind of feels like it is. David isn’t big on signs or the universe or any of that existential malarkey, but even he can see the irony of this situation. David Nolan, confirmed bachelor, bends over backwards to orchestrate this elaborate proposal to his unlikely boyfriend, only to have said boyfriend announce that he won’t even be around that night. It’s definitely a sign.

 _He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about it,_ David insists to himself. He needs to stop being so dramatic. Killian didn’t set out to hurt him. He’s just doing what David himself would encourage him to do, if it were any other time.

David wonders if he shouldn’t maybe go with Killian to New York, but can’t bring himself to abandon his girls at Christmas. Ruby especially, David’s surrogate little sister. He’ll just have to suck it up. Maybe he’ll ask Killian to marry him at New Year’s.

Killian murmurs something else, facedown in his pillow. David glances over, heart melting at the sight of him. Or maybe it’s guilt over the way he’s behaved, David can’t be sure. All he knows is it prompts him to roll over, wrapping his arms around Killian and pulling him tightly to his chest. Killian settles back against him with a sleepy sigh, unconsciously linking their fingers. David kisses the back of his neck, breathing in his scent.

“Baby,” he whispers in Killian’s ear, rubbing a hand along his thigh teasingly. Killian stirs, shifting against David restlessly. He squeezes the hands gripping his own.

“Early,” Killian complains softly when David continues kissing him, lips roaming the broad expanse of his shoulders. David chuckles, kisses turning to bites as Killian protests sleepily. He finally shifts around to face David, placing his palm over David’s face and pushing him away. “Early,” he repeats, eyes still closed.

And David almost blurts it out then. Nearly just begs his gorgeously grouchy boy to marry him, right here and now. He opens his mouth, question on the tip of his tongue, but hasn’t the chance to even begin before Killian shushes him.

“Daaavid,” he whines insistently, “shut up. No words. Just sleep.”

David laughs again, kissing Killian’s nose tenderly. “What if I had something really important to ask you?”

Killian shakes his head, nuzzling into David’s chest. “It’s nothing that won’t keep.” He’s asleep once more in minutes, content in David’s hold.

David rubs his hands along Killian’s back soothingly, berating himself for feeling snubbed. Again, Killian has no idea what David was going to say. David knows he’s impossible in the morning. Even entertaining the notion of asking now was foolish.

The time will come. It will be perfect and wonderful and Killian will say yes and David will wonder why he ever freaked over such a sure thing.

He repeats this mantra to himself several times over the next day. Especially the following morning when he waves to Killian and the boys as they pull away from the curb outside the Hut, New York bound.

Inhaling as deeply as he can in the frosty air, David turns to head into the warmth the shop offers. He hangs his coat on the rack, same as always, and decides to have a seat at the counter. It’s hard for him to sit at his table alone anymore, so used to Killian invading his space, stealing sips of his coffee and putting his hand over the pages of David’s book. It’s been worse lately, ever since someone (Ruby) had hung yet another bough of mistletoe above the table. David can’t escape the stuff, no matter where he goes.

The rest of the shop is similarly cheery, looking the very picture of a Christmas card. Ruby and Mary have been adding decorations on a daily basis, insisting that a Christmas party venue can never be too Christmassy. Wreaths hang from every window and wall, and twinkling lights running the length of the ceiling. An impressive tree stands in the far corner, the ornaments a fitting silver and gold.

Ruby is leaning against the expanse of granite countertop, watching David get situated with what closely resembles pity. David knows he must be mistaken though, because Ruby would never patronize him in such a way.

“Rubes,” he says warningly, pulling up a stool a few feet away. He leans forward on his elbows despondently and dares her to commiserate with him.

“I’m sorry, but this is just too sad!” Her vehemence takes David by surprises, straightening his spine. “You had it all planned out and it was _so cute_ and I was going to get to see it. I mean, I watched you fall in love and I was going to see you make it official and now, I get nothing!”

David shakes his head, astounded. “Glad to know MY proposal and engagement and subsequent marriage are actually all about you. Takes the pressure off a bit.”

“Oh shut up, you know what I meant. I wanted to be there when it happened so bad.” She pouts at him ridiculously, and David feels a rush of affection. She cares so much. David doesn’t know where he’d be without his precious iron-willed girl.

“I’m still going to ask him, Ruby. I haven’t changed my mind.” He smiles, rather unconvincingly, but she doesn’t even notice. Ruby is self-centered at the best of times, downright obtuse in the worst. And she apparently considers this to be the worst.

“But I might not be there!” she insists, bringing David a mug without being prompted. He catches her hand when she offers it to him, pressing a kiss to the palm.

“Want me to call you before? Like, drop to one knee, reach in my pocket, and pull out my phone? Just let Killian stare while I ring you up? ‘Hang on babe, I gotta ask you something, but I promised Ruby I’d-‘”

David isn’t allowed to finish, as Ruby yanks her hand from his grasp and smacks him soundly on the shoulder.

Mary Margaret enters the shop just in time to witness the violence.

“Ruby!” she gasps, sounding shocked. David clutches his arm exaggeratedly while Ruby rolls her eyes.

“Oh please, he had it coming. He was mocking me for being devastated about our beautiful proposal getting canceled.”

“Our proposal?” David asks incredulously, just as Mary Margaret says “Oh David, it’s terrible isn’t it?”

It’s always like this. David feels ganged up on by these two, no matter what the subject. He swears sometimes they exist just to make him miserable. Though for that to be true, their names would have to be Killian.

“It’s not the end of the world,” David replies testily, turning his attention to his lukewarm coffee. How old was the pot this came from, anyway? He drinks it regardless, ignoring the way Ruby and Mary Margaret continue to bemoan his situation.

“Are you positive he can’t reschedule, David?”

David nearly rolls his own eyes at the question, fixing Ruby with a disbelieving look. “Killian is a very persuasive person, it’s true, but I doubt even he could convince the execs at NBC to reschedule _Christmas_. His accent isn’t that attractive.” It is, but Ruby needn’t know that.

“You’re impossible today. Go to work. Come back in a better mood, ready to party.” Ruby makes shooing motions at him, and David doesn’t need to be told twice. His irritation with this whole day had just kept growing as he sat here, anyway.

He finishes his coffee quickly, setting the mug on the counter along with what he owes. Shrugging into his coat, David braces himself for the cold while the girls call out their goodbyes.

Well, Mary Margaret does. Ruby bitches at him about the lack of tip. David glances back at her with an eyebrow raised in the signature way he’d learned from Killian.

“The coffee was cold, Rubes. And you fucking hit me.” He winks at Mary Margaret when she laughs, pulling the door open.

Several hours and two outfit changes later (David is really bad with clothes, okay? He needs Killian to plan all of his outfits for him), David steps back over the threshold to a much more crowded room than he’d left that morning.

He’s a few, well more than a few, minutes late, and the party is already in full swing. Christmas music that would make Killian gag is blaring cheerfully from hidden speakers, blending pleasantly with the hubbub of excited chatter from partygoers.

David grins in spite of himself, unable to resist the enthusiastic atmosphere. He’d been nearly depressed leaving the house, thinking of how he’d intended this night to go and how different things were now, but vows not to dwell on it as Mary Margaret comes bustling over to him.

“David!” she gushes breathlessly. “I’m so glad you’re here! Ruby and I were concerned that perhaps you’d changed your mind, given…well everything. But you’re here!”

“I’m here,” he agrees brightly, smiling at her flushed cheeks and happy look. “It looks great, Mary, seriously. And smells even better. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

She laughs, taking his arm and pulling him further into the crush of warm bodies packed into the shop. “We both know that’s not true, but I appreciate the lie.”

David drops his eyes, trying not to get caught up in the guilt of letting Killian go to New York alone. He’s convinced himself that it would have been a waste of time. Killian would be far too busy to explore the city with him, and David didn’t want him to have to worry about whether or not David was enjoying himself. They’d be together tomorrow, which was plenty soon enough.

“Well, this is definitely in the top five places I want to spend Christmas Eve. Top two, even.” David smiles at Mary winningly, and she laughs again, squeezing his arm and offering him a glass of champagne. She looks beautiful, dressed in a flattering red frock, short hair expertly styled, with flawless makeup and sparkling earrings completing the look.

David has a sudden flash of what his life could be, if he had taken Mary Margaret up on her suggestion that they be together, so long ago now. He’s sure they’d be married, possibly even parents, making the rounds at Mary’s work party.

He tries to picture it, tries to imagine a life that doesn’t include Killian, and feels ill at the thought. Mary is wonderful; she’s gorgeous, but she isn’t David’s everything. She’s not loud and brash, impossibly stubborn or perfectly ridiculous. No one has ever come close to being what Killian is to him, and David feels his resolve to marry the man strengthen tenfold. He can’t believe he let himself get so caught up in something as trivial as the time and place of the proposal, when all that matters is making sure that Killian knows that David wants to be with him forever.

Mary Margaret is watching him with a cautiously inquisitive look, and David shakes off his wandering thoughts before pulling her against him in a quick hug. She may not be his greatest love, but she certainly takes up residence in his heart.

“You look fantastic tonight, did I tell you that? We need a picture.”

Mary blushes prettily, smiling up at him. “You look wonderful yourself. Killian is missing out.”

David glances down at his suit-clad self, knowing that Killian would agree with that statement. He loves David in a suit.

“Make sure you tell him when you next see him, okay?” he teases, pulling his phone out and leaning down to press his head to Mary’s. “Selfies are acceptable at Christmas, right?”

Mary Margaret giggles, stretching up to get herself in frame. “Absolutely.”

David snaps a painfully endearing [photo](http://i.imgur.com/ZhPIxZs.jpg), Mary declaring it to be perfect, despite the low lighting, and he immediately uploads it to twitter. He kisses Mary Margaret on the cheek before wandering off to find Ruby. He knows that she’s feeling the sting of a missing boyfriend tonight too, what with their respective partners being in the same band. They need to find a seat or two in front of the TV if they hope to hear Jolly Roger’s performance over the noise of the party.

They’re great, as David knew they would be, and Killian looks so good on camera that David considers it a privilege to wake up to that face every day. Not that he hasn’t always, but it’s rings truer tonight than ever. He and Ruby toast a great gig with several more glasses of champagne, growing ever tipsier.

And it doesn’t end there. David drinks steadily throughout the evening, determined to enjoy himself to the greatest extent. It’s what Killian would want, he’s sure. And Killian is never one to discourage getting hammered at any opportunity.

David thinks about Killian so often over the course of the night that he thinks he’s imagining things when his ringing phone claims that Killian is on the other end of the line. He fumbles with the phone for longer than he’d like to admit, reluctant to release his hold on his third cup of eggnog. And eggnog is such a weird word, by the way.

David finally manages to wrangle his reflexes, still laughing at the strangeness of languages, pressing the phone to his ear once he’s accepted the call.

“Hi, babe!” he slurs happily, eagerly awaiting Killian’s voice. Maybe he’ll ask him to get married right now. Seems as good a time as any.

Killian begs off a night out after the band’s thrilling performance, claiming exhaustion but really just wanting to find a piece of quiet in order to call David. He’s not sure when it happened, but at some point over the course of their relationship, Killian has come to rely on David’s feedback after a show. It’s like their gigs have no validity until David declares them brilliant. And since David is almost always there with him, Killian isn’t used to having to wait to hear David telling him how amazing he is. He misses it.

Well, he misses David, period, wanting nothing more to be back in Storybrooke at that blasted party, David in his arms on the dance floor.

So, after the cameras have stopped rolling, and the boys have accepted congratulations from every crew member they’d encountered, Killian heads back to the hotel room they’ve got for the night. He runs into a few fans, happily signing anything they hand him, posing for pictures in the cold until his nose is properly frozen. But he wouldn’t miss these moments for the world.

Finally, he steps into the elevator that will take him to the room, playing on his phone while he waits for it to reach the forty-seventh floor. Bloody New York and its ridiculously tall buildings. He’s just opened twitter when the bell dings, doors opening alarmingly fast. Killian steps out before they close just as quick, digging in his pocket with his free hand for the key. Smee had insisted that he could hold onto it, but Killian is thankful he’d refused. He’d probably have stuck it under that hat of his, never to be seen again.

He lets himself in with a tired sigh, crossing the tiny room in two strides before collapsing on the bed closest to the window. He really should shower first, feeling the grime of New York streets on every inch of exposed skin, but doesn’t want to wait to talk to David.

Killian brings his phone back up to his face, intending to call him right away. But he’d left the twitter app open, so he does a quick scroll down his feed. You know. Just to see if any of his friends had mentioned how brilliant he’d been tonight. He grins at the thought, but the expression soon slides from his face when he reaches a picture of David, mugging for the camera with Mary Margaret tucked under his arm as if she belongs there. They look incredible, both of them, like they’d coordinated in order to be the best looking couple at the party. And they do look like a couple.

Killian slams his thumb on the phone’s home button, needing to get the picture out of his sight before he loses what’s left of his meager dinner.

David has insisted for two years that Killian’s jealousy of Mary Margaret is unfounded, that there’s nothing between them, but Killian knows better. Knows that Mary is so fond of David that it borders on love, and that David would give his life for her, if need be.

Before he can think better of it, give himself a chance to return to a rational line of thinking, Killian dials David’s number.

He waits impatiently when David's ring sounds for the fourth time, jamming the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls the minibar open violently.

Just as the call is about to click over to voicemail, David's breathless voice comes lilting across the line.

"Hi, babe." David sounds like he's picked up in the middle of a laugh, tell-tale rumbling tone giving him away. Killian raises an eyebrow, though there's no one around to see.

"Seems like you're having fun," he says by way of a greeting, twisting the top off a tiny bottle of rum. David laughs again, and that's how Killian knows he's properly sauced.

“Saw you though! You were great. I feel bad ‘bout tryin to make you not go. You should always go.”

Definitely drunk. That apology was offered way too easy. Killian loves him. 

David isn't much of a lush, usually limiting his alcohol intake to a couple of beers and maybe a sip of something harder, just to appease Killian. But when he is drunk, he's delightful, and Killian finds his irritation fading as he imagines it.

David would be flushed high on his lovely cheeks, mouth pulled into a perpetual grin. He gets chatty when he's lit, drawing total strangers into conversations ranging anything from microbrews to the proper protein-to-fat ratios in dog food. Killian finds himself taking a backseat to David where typically he's the boisterous one. He keeps an arm wrapped around David, often hiding smiles in David's neck. David is much more demonstrative when he's had a few, so Killian always relishes the opportunity to hold him close in public.

He's so wrapped up in imaging drunk David that Killian almost misses listening to drunk David. He tunes into David's slightly slurred speech in time to hear him rambling on about, of all things, eggnog.

"But Ruby keeps adding to it so I think 's mostly rum at this point. Not a hint of nog." David giggles and Killian's heart trips over itself. He smiles as David adds, "You'd prob'ly adore it."

Killian starts to reply, wants to tell David that he adores  _him,_ especially like this, but hasn't the chance. There's a commotion on David's end of line that sounds like David stumbled into someone, and Killian hears Mary Margaret's dulcet voice over the ruckus. 

"Oh David, there you are! I was wondering where you went."

Killian sees red suddenly, imaging her small hand in the crook of David's elbow, undoubtedly steering him off to her own version of the mistletoe stunt.

"I'm sure you were!" Killian yells into the phone, hoping David still has it pressed to his ear. Damaged hearing would serve him right for fraternizing with that hussy.

Killian feels a guilty twinge that says he's being unfair to Mary, but he ignores it in favor of grabbing another bottle from the bar. He listens to the music piping through the phone, a terrible rendition of "I'll Be Home for Christmas". Killian studiously refuses to acknowledge the irony of that while thinking that the only acceptable Christmas song on the planet is "Run, Run Rudolph". And not the version by that sappy Bryan Adams. Only the raucous, rock'n'roll Keith Richards one will do. David knows that. David should be ashamed that he hasn't demanded a change in tunage by now.

As soon as the word 'tunage' enters his thought process, Killian knows he should put down the rum. Quit while he's ahead. But he takes a vindictive swig instead, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He's tired of waiting for David to marshal the wits to return to this phone call.

"David!"

Killian hears a intake of breath over the line, but it's still a few moments before he gets a response.

"Wassit, Kil? Quit yelling." David sounds disgruntled, apparently finished with his giddy drunken phase. Killian feels viciously pleased. He realizes he probably shouldn't relish ruining David's good time just because he isn't there, but he can't help it.

"Just trying to get a moment of your attention David," Killian says sweetly. "I'm surprised you even had time to answer this call, given how busy you and Mary Margaret seem to be, with the tweeting and all." 

David sputters unintelligibly for a moment, usual quick tongue quelled by the non-noggy eggnog.

"Are you serious right now?" he finally manages, and Killian knows him so well that he knows what David's face looks like in this moment, even without seeing him. Pinched brow, twisted mouth, glittering eyes. It's hot and cowing all at once. 

When David continues his incredulous tirade, he sounds more sober by the minute. The background noise has diminished severely, and Killian wonders if he's stepped outside. The cold in Storybrooke is enough to knock the last dregs of liquor right out of you. 

"You're fucking jealous? Of that picture? Of Mary? We're gonna go through this again, Killian?" In his mind's eye, Killian sees David jerking a hand through his short hair, breath fogging up the night air. He squirms uncomfortably, attempting to bolster his nerve with more alcohol.

David is silent in his ear, obviously expecting an apology. As the rum burns its way down his throat, Killian temper burns hot in his gut once again.

“I’m just surprised, is all. I never imagined you’d find a stand-in on such short notice. I mean, I know you’re pissed at me, but gracious. Give a lad at least a day before you replace him, yeah?”

It’s not what he wants to say. It’s not even what he means to say. David has gone deathly quiet again, not even breathing into the phone. Killian wants to apologize, starts to, but holds his tongue at the last moment. Two years worth of resentment toward David’s relationship with Mary Margaret has him mute.

Finally, after ages have passed, once Killian has begun to wonder about his phone’s long-distance plan and how many minutes it allows, David breaks the silence.

“If you fucking knew what I had…what I was going to…you know what, I can’t do this right now. I have people waiting for me. Merry Christmas, darling. Fuck you.”

And he hangs up. Just like that. Killian curses, yanking the phone away from his ear to hit the redial, praying David will pick up. He doesn’t. Killian blows out a long breath, waiting for the beep to begin his voicemail message. David hasn’t recorded a personalized greeting, so once the woman prompts him, Killian starts in.

“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was just so jealous that I wasn’t the one in that picture. And it’s not an excuse, I know, but I’m an idiot and I’m sorry. I love you. Call me back.” Killian rushes through the missive, treating apologies like ripping off a bandaid. Get it over with as quickly as possible, and it will sting less.

Killian waits a full thirty minutes before accepting that David is not going to call him back, has probably turned his phone off. He gnaws on his thumbnail as he sits on the edge of the bed. He can’t believe he did that. The picture wasn’t even intimate. It could be two friends as easily as it could be a couple, and Killian knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s the one David wanted to be taking couply pictures with, anyway. The man had practically begged him to stick around and attend the romantic affair with him, for fuck’s sake.

And David has made it clear that he and Mary are nothing other than friends. Killian has never even seen David acting untoward around her. The whole scenario is a figment of his imagination, one that has caused problems between them before. Killian knows that it’s finally time to let go of it.

He heaves himself off the bed to pace the small room, knowing that he won’t make it til tomorrow evening before he talks to David again. He pauses in front of the bedside table, eyes drawn to the van keys tossed there. He’s five hours from Storybrooke. He could be back before Santa has even finished his trip around the world.

Decision made, Killian offers up a mental apology to the band, whose ride he’s commandeering. He’ll stop at the reception desk and arrange for a rental. He also briefly wonders about his level of intoxication, but guilt has a way of sobering him up.

Killian drives like a man possessed, thanking whomever’ll listen that Storybrooke is at the base of the state. If he continues like he is, he’ll make it home by six. David shouldn’t even be awake then.

Killian pulls up to their apartment at 5:50am, jumping out of the van before pausing at the bottom of the stairs. He knows David is likely to kick him right back out as soon as he steps through the door.

Or maybe he’ll obey the ordinance of the mistletoe and allow Killian to kiss his way out of the doghouse.

Killian snorts to himself at the thought. _Would be a bloody Christmas miracle, that._

He turns his key in the lock as quietly as possible, knowing David’s displeasure with him will only increase if Killian wakes him rudely. All his care is moot when, immediately upon entering the apartment, Killian crashes into the table by the door. Driving for long periods disorients him, all right?

Killian is doubled over, clutching his injured knee and calling the table all manner of unflattering names, when the dark flat is suddenly illuminated like the surface of the sun. Killian abandons his knee in favor of shielding his eyes, squinting across the living room.

David is stood there, clad only in reindeer patterned boxers. Killian swoons at the adorableness of it, until he catches sight of David’s face. He’s seen friendlier looking thunderclouds.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” David’s voice is gruffer than Killian’s ever heard it, a delicious combination of sleep, alcohol, and anger. It washes over him like a balm, though he’s sure David didn’t intend for it to be comforting.

Killian offers him a grimace-like smile, which he doesn’t return. Killian swallows nervously.

“It’s like them cheesy songs, innit? I’m home for Christmas, love.”

David crosses his arms over his bare chest, sleek muscles on display. Killian would be fine with standing here and staring at him the rest of the day, but he has the feeling David isn’t so inclined.

“Typically those songs are about rushing home to people who want you there.”

Killian flinches at the tone he uses as much as the words, not used to the cruel edge to David’s voice.

“Dave, David,” Killian corrects hurriedly, seeing the way David’s eyes narrow at the despised nickname. No need to provoke him further. “I’m sorry love. I didn’t mean it, I just drove myself crazy thinking of how she was there with you. When I should be.”

David shakes his head, frustration palpable. “It’s not Mary’s fault you weren’t there. I don’t know how many ways I can tell you that there’s nothing going on, there’s never been anything going on, there’ll never be anything going on between us.” David looks at Killian then, a resigned look in his eyes. “If you can’t believe that, I don’t know what we’re doing here. I mean, I thought we were over this and I wanted…I was going to…but if you can’t even trust that I have no intention of cheating on you then…” David trails off, and Killian’s heart seizes in his chest.

“I do believe you!” Killian insists, slightly hysterical. “I’m a jealous idiot David, you know that. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

“Feels an awful lot like it, Kil.”

Killian knows it’s probably nothing, a reflex on David’s part, but he takes heart at the nickname.

“It’s not that,” Killian reiterates, taking a tentative step closer to David. “I just couldn’t shake the feeling that you were lashing out at me for not being there by spending the night with her.”

And wow, Killian really shouldn’t be allowed to speak extemporaneously. David stiffens instantly, glower going from simmering to boiling in no time.

“So it’s my fault, then? I wanted you there, and so when you weren’t there, I decided to get back at you by hooking up with Mary?”

Killian holds his hands out placatingly, but David is having none of it. “David, that’s not what I said. I’m just saying, you were upset with me. It’s not inconceivable to think you’d want to get back at me a little. But I know that’s not true!” Killian rushes to say, watching David wind himself up to yell again. “You just wanted me there and were disappointed I wasn’t. Nothing more.”

David glares at him a few moments more before bursting into action. Killian jumps back as David pushes himself off the wall he’d been leaning against.

“You know what Killian, you’re right. I did want you there. A fucking lot. And you wanna know why?”

Instead of answering his own question, David storms out of the room, and Killian is left just enough time to wonder if he’s coming back before he storms in again. There’s something small and cubed clutched tightly in his fist, and he chucks it at Killian, none too gently.

Killian catches the box just before it smashes him in the nose. He blinks at David, who’s back to standing across the room, chest heaving.

Killian stares down at the velvety box, feeling as though the very breath has been sucked from his lungs. He opens it with trembling hands, gasping audibly at the ring nestled inside.

“That’s why! That’s why I wanted you there, you absolute shit!” David shouts, Killian still entranced with the ring in his hands. “I was going to ask you to marry me. Tonight. I was going to give a big fucking speech, make sure everyone at that goddamn party was listening to me tell you how much I love you, how I want to spend forever and always with you. I was going to make an idiot out of myself. I-“ David’s voice breaks, and Killian finally looks away from the box to gape at him. His face is flushed, eyes suspiciously wet as he continues, “I was going to ask you to marry me.”

Killian has never been this speechless, trying and failing to muster some reply. David swipes at his eyes angrily, dropping his gaze to the box in Killian’s hands. Killian looks back down, struck again by how _gorgeous_ it is. It’s like David knows him or something. The black diamonds that frame the white are so utterly perfect, and the platinum band is like something out of Killian’s most elaborate jewelry fantasies.

Killian raises his eyes to look at David again, throat constricted. David knows him. David loves him. David wants to _marry_ him.

Killian chokes on air, pressing a hand to his mouth and gazing at David helplessly. His face has softened, looking at Killian with an unreadable expression. Killian still doesn’t know what to say, but knows he needs to say something. Now.

“Fuck Rockefeller Center.”

He closes his eyes in mortification, but apparently it isn’t so bad, as David laughs abruptly. Killian opens his eyes to find David smiling at him. More subdued than such a moment calls for, perhaps, but brighter than one would expect after such a fight as that.

“Yeah,” David agrees quietly, still watching Killian closely. “You really messed up my plans with that. I was so proud of myself too.”

Killian can see the truth of that admission, the tight lines around David’s eyes betraying the stress he’d been feeling. He wanted to marry Killian, and he wanted to do it right. He wanted to ask him in front of everyone they knew.

“I’m sorry,” Killian whispers, voice broken. “I’m sorry for everything David, I didn’t-“ The words die in his throat when David shakes his head, stepping forward to cup Killian’s face in both hands.

“Don’t, baby. I was unfair, blaming you for ruining my perfect proposal when you didn’t have any clue.” He eyes Killian critically for a moment. “You didn’t have any clue, right?”

Killian shakes his head gently, taking care not to shake David’s hands from his cheeks. Not to say he hadn’t thought about it. He’d just never imagined David had been thinking about it too.

The tender look on David’s face has Killian feeling more like himself, so he replies a little sarcastically.

“I am pleased to know that this was something you’d intended on for awhile though. Otherwise, the timing would seem a little circumspect. Proposing to me only after I was a big-time television star.”

David seems torn between the desire to kiss him and hit him, and that’s when Killian knows everything was going to be fine. They may have just had the biggest fight of their lives, but David wants to marry him.

“I haven’t proposed to you, idiot,” David says fondly, thumbs brushing over Killian’s cheeks reverently. The ‘yet’ is unspoken, but Killian hears it as clearly as if David had shouted. He takes one of David’s hands in his, tucking the ring into his palm.

“Get on with it, then.”

David scoffs but kisses him, a soft brush of lips. Killian presses into his touch, but David keeps it frustratingly brief.

“What makes you think I want to marry an egomaniacal diva like you?” Even as he says it, David is pulling away, dropping to one knee in the middle of their living room at six on Christmas morning. He’s in reindeer boxers with sleep-mussed hair, and Killian has never wanted anything more in his life.

“Killian,” David begins seriously, eyes twin pools of pale blue radiance. Killian interrupts before he can get another word out.

“Yes. I will marry you. I would have married you on sight.”

David’s smiling so big it must hurt, crinkles around his eyes more pronounced than Killian has ever seen them. Which is why it’s such a shock when he punches Killian in the thigh. Hard.

Killian yelps indignantly, glaring down at him.

“I’m not finished. I have a whole speech. There’s an entire section dedicated to your ass. You want to hear it.”

And Killian does. Eventually. Maybe at the wedding. But right now, all he wants to do is kiss David until he can’t remember his name, let alone a monologue on Killian’s arse.

Glancing up quickly to gauge how far they need to move, Killian yanks David forward by the shoulders, forcing him to shuffle a few feet until they’re positioned under the mistletoe still hanging over the couch. David’s hands grip his waist for balance, ring box digging into Killian’s hip.

Killian smiles, bending down to put his mouth inches from David’s. “You have five seconds before I’m going to kiss you so long and so hard that you’ll lose the ability to form full sentences. With that in mind, is there something you’d like to ask me?”

He’d promised five, but Killian gives David maybe one second before he’s crushing their mouths together roughly. The dazed look on his face had been too much to resist.

Killian thinks it’s only fitting, given his obsession with David’s lips, that David should propose to him when they’re attempting to crawl into each other’s mouths.

“Will you marry me?”

If Killian hadn’t known that’s what David was saying, he’d never have been able to decipher his words. It doesn’t matter. It’s perfect.

Killian nods furiously against him, unwilling to spare the air to reply verbally. David huffs a laugh, groping blindly for Killian’s left hand and shoving the ring on his fourth finger, quite unceremoniously.

Killian breaks the kiss then, panting as he stares down at the ring on his previously unadorned hand. He falls in love with the way it looks, and one glance at David’s face assures Killian he feels the same. David runs a finger around the band, almost like he can’t believe Killian’s wearing it, even though he’s the one who put it there.

Killian wants to marry him right then.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking David’s chin in his free hand, tilting his head back. David’s gaze is still slightly stunned, and Killian can’t resist leaning in for another short kiss. David tries to follow his mouth as he pulls away, and Killian grins before continuing.

“When we tell people this story, we’re saying you asked me to marry you on the 26th. Fucking cheesy to get engaged on Christmas.”

Killian can’t say he’s surprised when David tackles him back to the carpet, arms around his waist. He goes willingly, arms splaying over his head. David grins down at him for a breathless moment, swooping in to peck him lightly on the cheek. Then he pulls back, eyes wide as he stares at Killian.

Killian raises an eyebrow dubiously. “What is it?”

David scrambles away all of a sudden, jumping to his feet. Killian fruitlessly tries to grab him back, protesting loudly. David holds a finger up, turning to sprint down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“David? What the fuck!?” Killian yells after him, utterly bewildered. He’s marrying a crazy man.

When David yells back, his voice is panicky, octaves higher than his typical deep drawl. “I forgot to call Ruby! She’s gonna kill me for getting engaged without her.”

Killian looks down at the ring adorning his finger, sighing contentedly. _Good thing he’s bloody fit_.

He hauls himself to his feet, intent on tracking down his elusive fiancé. Pausing in the doorway, he reaches up to pluck the mistletoe from the entry with a grin.

Right handy, mistletoe.


End file.
